Mind Brigade
by Ekoaleko
Summary: There were two things in the world that were always, always inescapable, no matter how far you ran and how desperately you hid. The first was death. The second, truth. Threeshot entry for the Village Square forum contest. Jamie.
1. part 1

**Mind Brigade  
part 1 **

A wise being had once told me that sometimes the bravest thing to do was to accept defeat. This was once upon a time, in a time that seemed so distant from the present, like it had been placed into the sea and swept away into nothingness.

At the time, I'd merely laughed.

* * *

"_Hey, Jamie, just so you know, you don't have to keep searching for a solution to save the Goddess anymore." _

"_Yeah, there's some new farm girl coming to Flower Bud. The Goddess foresaw her as the one who would save her!"_

"_Supposedly the new girl can see us Sprites! I'm so excited!" _

Smoke.

It choked you, entered you, wrapped its cloud-gray fingers against your throat and congested you until your words were reduced to asphyxiated wheezes. Funny, how smoke was so similar to anger.

I could feel the smoke coming to reside inside of me when the Sprites told me the news of the new farmer. This was supposed to be my job – _my _duty to save the Goddess, and mine alone. What right did someone else have to just move into town and be handed my role? It wasn't fair that some outsider was carried and placed at the top of the tower whereas I had to struggle to climb the jagged footholds.

After the Sprites had delivered their message – _we don't need you anymore –_ they hurried to fetch the new girl and show her the bleak stone statue that the Goddess had been reduced to one year ago. I followed in the shadows, leaking lividity.

The girl had innocent eyes, a slight frame, and the face of someone reckless and inexperienced: the face of a child. This was the purported Messiah, the "foreseen saviour" – _ha_. I'd stood in the shadows seething, my carcinogen spite rolling around in my chest like an aggravated beast. Surely I'd be the one destined to save the Goddess, and not this stupid girl, who would only besmirch the Goddess's good name. There was no _way._

"Hiya. I'm Jill."

I'd been working in my fields, soaking the strawberries I had just planted, kicking every weed I stumbled across when that voice had broken my concentration. I turned around and there the girl – appropriately dubbed "farm girl," was – arms dangling naturally over my fence, completely ignorant of my _Do not trespass _sign.

I eyed her reproachfully and said nothing. All of my bottled resentment was directed at her; it was hate at first sight. She looked mildly intimidated, her elbows ebbing back over the fence.

"Uh. I'm new," she enthused, her puerile pigtails swishing as she nodded her head in my direction. She watched me carefully, waiting for a response, taking in the unsmiling features on my face.

After a long moment, I succumbed to her determined, watchful eyes. "I know," I spoke simply.

She cracked a lopsided smile, but her gaze remained level on mine. "Aren't you going to tell me your name?"

With one rigid arm motion, alike to the stiff movement of construction machinery, I pointed to the sign just above _Do not trespass, _which prominently read _Jamie Ranch_. At once, the hint of a giggle left her lips, which she swallowed quickly.

"What?" I demanded.

"It's just..." She smiled with her tongue instilled in her mouth, enjoying the taste of her own irksome private joke. "You named your own ranch after yourself. Heh."

A vein above my eyebrow throbbed. I would have turned around and gone back to watering the strawberries had I not been determined to wipe that abrasive grin off her face.

"Your point?" I asked indignantly.

Her response was surprisingly swift and tactful. "I just think that's kind of self-absorbed, is all." She said this in a haze of innocence and enlightenment.

My vision was beginning to fog with a hint of red, and the strawberries had nothing to do with it. "Oh, yeah? What's your ingenious excuse-of-a-farm called, then?" I shot back.

She placed her arms back on my fence, this time resting her chin on it with ease; I made a note to sterilize it immediately following this conversation. "Burgundy Farm," she responded smoothly.

A laugh rose to my throat like ejecting lava, one that I didn't try at all to hold in.

"What's so funny?" she asked calmly.

"Why the hell did you name it Burgundy?" I shook my head. This conversation had gone on far too long for my liking.

Her response: "Because it's my favourite colour." For some unfathomable and aggravating reason, she didn't look offended at all. "You know, I have a feeling you don't like me."

"Your intuition is spot-on," I murmured, caustic.

"But why is that?" She cocked her head as if she'd just asked a trivial, time-passing question. As if she had just asked how the weather was, or how much that bag of seeds was. "Don't worry, Jamie. I'm going to crack you eventually."

"_Please_." I barked a laugh, omitting the steely glare I had initially meant to exhibit. "You aren't going to win." The words had escaped my lips before I could even process them.

She scowled. "What?"

"Listen." I turned so that my profile was facing her fully. The growling beast had returned to my chest, scrutinizing the prey in front of me. "I'm going to save the Goddess. _Not _you."

She looked momentarily dumbfounded. "What are you..."

I cut in harshly. "You think you can just show up and be the new hero? You think that a stupid human like you can revive a deity? How naive _are_ you?"

I could tell my words were slashing at her. She stepped back, a stupefied expression on her face. "You...how can you say that? You're a human, too."

That was it. "_SHUT UP!_" I shouted, so loudly it felt like I had digested a pair of scissors. Rage flashed before my eyes, donned in red. I threw the watering can at the ground with all my might, the metal shrieking as it slammed against the dirt. The farm girl winced. "You don't know anything – you can't win. Just _leave_."

Her eyes were wide, staring, taking in the livid mess before her. "Who said anything about winning or losing?"

She was throwing gasoline into a fire, practically begging me to set her ablaze. She had pushed me far enough already. "I think I just did. And mind you, I said nothing about losing – although I am pretty sure that certain people always have losing foremost on their minds. What are they called, again?" I indulged in her frozen state as I paused for effect, each of my words deliberate and doused in venom. "Oh, that's right – _losers_. Now get out."

The farm girl stood there for a long moment, so quiet and still I could hear the subtle buzz of the morning insects. She looked like she had been surrounded, trapped in the very centre of a circinate brigade. At last, she shook her head, once, twice, five times I counted, before turning around and walking away.

And that was the first time we had spoken.

* * *

"_Jamie, do you want to know something interesting about yourself?" _

"_I'm not sure if I do, no."_

"_It's as if you have some kind of mentality that convinces you everything has to be a competition. Tell me, do you constantly find yourself wondering what it takes to win? How you don't want to lose, at all costs?"_

"_I don't –"_

"_...Have to say anything. It doesn't have to be like that, Jamie. Life isn't a game."_

At the time, I had bitten my tongue in attempt to hold in my scornful frown. Life _was _a game, I had believed at the time, and continued to believe now. You started with a certain number of lives and dreams, and eventually, they were swatted away like buzzing insects. You got a bonus when you won, and you felt like shit when you lost. In the end, _everyone _lost. Life was twisted, unfair, but it was still a damn game.

I closed my eyes. Memories were the bane of my existence; no matter how thick of a wall I built in my mind, no matter how desperately I barricaded unwanted thoughts and willed them to recede, they only came back stronger than ever. It was like holding your breath and then exhaling violently: a burst of oxygen filling strangled lungs. Sometimes, being strangled felt easier than breathing.

"I'll have a Scotch, thanks."

I melted into the Moonlight Bar's laid back atmosphere, the muffled chatter and the thick, musky scent of drinks. I didn't hold a candle to an alcoholic, but at times when my past seemed to dominate my thoughts, the only safeguard I could wash it away with was a drink. Or three.

Eve, the lusty barmaid, went to pour my second drink that night. She rested the new glass in front of me and leaned against the tall wooden counter, the only lively figure in the bar. Her bent over posture forewarned nosiness. "You're looking rough these days, honey."

"How would you know? I rarely come here." I snaked my arm out to take the drink and chugged it down, oblivious to her golden curves.

She watched me, a knowing look on her face. "This is your third time here this week."

"Oh."

Her lips, which I was sure had explored more places than her feet, parted. Keeping her voice low, she said in a smoky drawl, "So I've been hearing rumours."

Had I been in any other atmosphere and drinking anything non-alcoholic, I wouldn't have humoured her gossip. But as things were, everything enticed me at this moment. "About?"

"That farmer that moved in about a season ago, in the spring." Her voice was so low now that it nearly matched my own. "I heard she's pregnant."

"Is she?" I spun the heavy cup of Scotch around with my calloused hands. The reflection on the inside of the glass made my palms look like smooth, rectangular scales. "I could care less, but I am curious as to who would impregnate _her_." The alcohol was speaking, my conscience barred.

"You don't think she's pretty?" The question was so sudden, so prying and childish. And yet Eve's eyes glowed with a certain, sparked curiosity. I had to faintly wonder if every woman was like that, obsessed with what men thought of other females. What did it matter to them?

"That's irrelevant," I answered stiffly, keeping my gaze on the nearly empty glass.

"So you _do _think she's pretty," she surmised, using a tone that would only irritate me the more I heard it.

I looked at her, my gaze steadfast. "Answer my question."

"Okay, Mr. Suppressed Emotions." I bristled, but she pressed on before I could retaliate. "I don't know who impregnated her. But c'mon, just look at her tummy – it's so pudgy, it's impossible that she doesn't have a baby on board."

"...I guess," I offered, out of lack of anything more intelligible to say. From speculation, I hadn't noticed anything about the farm girl's stomach, but the last thing I wanted to do was seem like I was defending her. Our first conversation had also been our last conversation.

"I mean," the barmaid began again, slipping her fingers through a strand of hair and running through it like a comb, "you can't do all that farm work and _not _be really fit, right? You'd expect someone of her occupation to be, like, muscular. Or stick-thin. Kind of like you – no offence," she added dryly.

"Whatever," I muttered, tucking my slender arms closer to my body.

There was a lull in the conversation.

Eve's gauging stare was equivalent to a loading gun. "So you _do_ think she's pretty, even though she's fat?"

It was then that I heard a wooden squeal from behind, a chair leg dragging against the floorboards. I didn't have to turn around to know that the victim of our discussion had been the one to stand up and, consequentially, flee.

The bar door swung shut and the farm girl's chair collapsed into a heap on the ground. I looked up at Eve, who had her fingers frozen in her sunshine-yellow hair and a less than empathetic look on her face.

"Oops," she said.

"Oops," I repeated, aware of the cold stares imminently directed at my back from the other bar patrons. I felt a hollow pinch in my gut. "I should go," I told her, pushing out the stool I was seated on. My hand floated above my pocket. "How much was that last drink?"

Eve looked like she wanted to say something. Her invisible intentions passed like a cloud as she waved a hand in the air. "It was on the house. Don't worry about it."

I was surprised by the rare act of kindness. "Well, thanks, Eve. I'll be seeing you." I turned around to leave when I heard her bring her pitch down an octave and murmur, "Just make sure you don't run after her."

I scoffed at her. "Don't be ridiculous," I deadpanned, and left.

The walk back to the ranch was long. The summer humidity had netted the moisture in the air, causing light rainfall to drip-drop all over my heated skin; the walk was refreshing and suffocating all at once. I felt a wave of relief as the worn fence of the Jamie Ranch came into view. I'd been ploughing the fields under the sun all day long, and already I was anticipating a long sleep.

In the darkened distance, I could see a large log a few ways from my front door. I blinked a few times in case I was seeing things, but the log remained; the closer I got, the clearer it got. Upon closer inspection, I realized it wasn't a log at all.

It was the farm girl. Jill.

I cursed under my breath. Angry, unanswerable questions charged through my skull: why did it have to be me of all people to find her? Why couldn't it have been someone else? Why had she passed out outside of _my _front door? I stared at her, as if I could make her levitate, but she remained flat against the wet cement. I took the time to take in how truly pathetic she looked as I approached her, her face squished in the mud, her ridiculous pigtails soaked and her limbs twisted underneath her like a crumpled doll.

Finally, I knelt down and gathered her in my arms, struggling on the way back up. I huffed and struggled my way to the clinic, the raindrops falling relentlessly as I walked. It might have been an easier trip had the alcohol I'd consumed not tethered itself to each of my muscles, dragging them down with double that of gravity's pull.

I plopped down on the waiting room chair after Gina, the nurse, had frantically instructed that I lay the farm girl down on one of the beds. Dr. Alex had awoken from his caffeinated paperwork trance to hurry after the nurse into one of the cubicles.

_Stupid farm girl_, I thought.

I hadn't planned on waiting. I was going to sit down, take a short rest, and maybe wait the rain out. But I had _no intentions whatsoever _of waiting for that annoying girl and her verdict...

A firm hand on my shoulder shook me awake an ample amount of time later. I had no idea how much time had passed, how long I had been asleep for. I blinked a few times until I could clearly see Dr. Alex standing in front of me, an ominous clipboard in his hands. "We found out about Jill's condition," he said solemnly.

Perhaps it was pride, perhaps it was the Scotch. Something made me stand up brusquely and push the following words out of my mouth, "I don't care to know."

The doctor's lips were a thin line, but he made no unnecessary remarks. "I see." He looked over my damp clothes, my heavy eyelids, all the exterior paper wrapped around my apathy.

I could hear the rainfall from outside; it had escalated into torrents, the wind whistling sharply through the walls. Alex narrowed his eyes at the window. "Maybe it would be best if you spent the night. If you walk home in this weather, you're going to get sick, and then there won't be anyone to feed your animals."

It was so typical of him, such a doctor thing to mesh one's responsibilities and health into another's. "I guess. Thanks," I tacked on as he led me to my temporary cubicle.

"No problem."

I couldn't help but let my eyes pass over the slightly parted curtain of the cubicle before mine. In that short instant, I caught the snapshot-esque view of Gina rubbing the barely conscious Jill's forearm, murmuring words into her ear and getting nothing but strained nods in response. There was a white cloth on the farm girl's forehead and an equally stark blanket covering the length of her body. My eyes caught the blank, helpless eyes of the farm girl's.

In just two steps, the image disappeared, replaced by a wall. "You did a good thing tonight, bringing her here." Alex looked like he wanted to say more. After a moment's consideration, he merely nodded at me and left the cubicle, down the hallway, back to his coffee and sleepless stress. I pitied him.

I tugged off my wet shirt, throwing it over a wooden visitor's chair, and climbed onto the bed. I flicked off the light and flounced my aching head onto the pillow, anticipating sleep to overtake me instantly.

Sleep came, but it was fickle. Like shy, windless tides, I drifted in and out of my dreams, none of which I had been into deeply enough to remember. During one of the intervals of consciousness, I had heard movement and voices from the other side of the wall. I hadn't any idea of the time at this point; it was either very late at night or very early in the morning, judging on the pale light drifting through the window.

"...could be critical, Gina."

"But Alex... ... levels could rise."

"...background check for past cardiac..."

"...you sure? ...chances are slim to none..."

"...Yes... ... the only way..."

"Shut up." I let out a groggy, muffled groan into my pillow. Surprisingly, there was a responsive silence – a paradox within itself.

"Was ... hear that?"

"I think... ...next door, Jamie."

"How immature."

And then I had wafted back into the world of sleep, memories of the conversation as hazy as a dream the following morning. I thanked Alex for letting me stay the night and then hurried out of the clinic, making sure to look the other way while passing Jill's cubicle. Every movement was rushed. Eventually, my feet led me back to my ranch with no further distractions.

Last night, to me, was similar to an impressionist painter's brush strokes on a canvas: dashed streaks of colour and line, with no distinct shape. Just blurs.


	2. part 2

**Mind Brigade**

**part 2**

"_And if that happens, I will disappear."_

"_What? But – why? How the hell is that fair for you?" _

"_It's not. Life's not fair, Jamie. Not for someone like you and not for someone like me. It's just the way things are."_

"_Well, that's not good enough. What can I possibly do to save you?"_

"_Just...be brave." _

"_Be brave? What the hell, Goddess? Is that the only crappy excuse of a solution you can think of? What good will that do?"_

"_Please, Jamie. This cannot be prevented. At this point, there is no solution."_

"_Stop it. For a deity, you sound incredibly pathetic right now. And _you _stop glaring at me, you stupid Harvest Sprites, you know I'm right. There is _nothing _brave about giving up."_

"_That isn't true, Jamie. Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is accept defeat."_

"_My ass."_

The Goddess had been right about one thing: some things were unpreventable. Inescapable. Inevitable. Hiding under a table didn't stop a roof from collapsing to your feet. Flailing and clawing at the air didn't keep you from falling. These days, there was no such thing as reaction – just reflexes.

The memories broke through my feeble barrier, through the rusty shackles and into my conscience and soul. I dropped the already dented watering can in my hand, immediately feeling liquid pool at my feet and soak through my boots. I kicked it away and slumped onto the recently ploughed field, rubbing my temples vigorously.

_You can't save her. You don't even know how to. _

There were two things in the world that were always, always inescapable, no matter how far you ran and how desperately you hid. The first was death. The second, truth.

The Harvest Goddess's body had fallen from grace over one year ago. Whether her soul had been imprisoned in the stone fortress or she had disappeared completely and was replaced by a lifeless statue – I didn't like to think of the latter – I had been headstrong on saving her from the beginning. It was a naive, foolish thing to aim for, the resurrection of a goddess at the hands of a mere human being, and only now was I realizing it. As she had requested, I was finally accepting it. The only difference was I didn't feel brave accepting that she was gone. I felt powerless. I was losing.

I gripped the handle of the watering can tightly, hoisting myself back to my feet. What now, after I had gone through every stage? The trauma of losing the Goddess, the vengeance – how I _loathed _society – and then the denial...what would follow? Redemption? Retribution?

I stared into my reflection in the watering trough, trying to find my answers swimming in its depths. My thoughts scattered like minnows when I heard someone clear their throat and I looked up, meeting the dark, pensive eyes of Dr. Alex. He had his signature clipboard flat against his chest and his skin was sickly pale, like he had never seen sunlight. Come to think of it, this was the only time I had ever seen him outside the clinic; standing, rather than hunched over papers or by a patient's bedside.

Was such suffering and sacrifice truly required to achieve respect? What in the hell was wrong with society these days?

"Good to see you again, Jamie," he said pleasantly but seriously. _He's always serious._

I nodded – _then again, so am I._ "Same to you, doctor."

He cut to the point, sparing any further formalities. "I was asked to deliver a message to you." I thought I noted a string of uncertainty threaded through his words, and the cautious steps he took to close the distance between us only confirmed it.

"What is it?" I held my breath, bracing myself for the worst.

"Er...it's from Jill. You know, the new girl who came to take over the vacant lot and fix it up into a farm." He misread my apprehension for confusion. I couldn't help but resent how he made the farm girl sound like some saviour, restoring life to neglected land when in reality she had probably only chosen farming because she dropped out of school, couldn't sing, and wasn't comfortable with prostitution.

"Go on," I pressed him slowly.

His eyes stayed on me. A doctor's eye was chilling, because they were different from normal people's eyes – they had seen more. They _knew _more. A normal person identified pain, but a doctor identified rabies, seizures, cardiovascular disease, melanoma, histoplasmosis, ovarian cysts, tuberculosis, cancer.

"She wants to ask a favour of you."

"A favour?" I repeated, incredulous. The farm girl and I had never been on friendly terms, not since the very first time we'd conversed. She was in no position to be asking favours, and I was given no reason to comply. As a matter of fact, I was the last person she should have asked.

"Just listen." Alex's face was so stern, I had to scan it for premature wrinkles. I listened intently and dubiously as he continued, "Her condition right now is critical. She is bedridden. I understand that you don't care for details..." He paused for a moment, gauging my reaction. I gauged his in return – _Actually, I really don't understand,_ I could plainly tell that he was thinking.

I ignored the little voice in my head that said, _That's not what he's thinking. That's what _you're_ thinking._

"She wants you to take care of her farm while she's hospitalized."

A wisp of fury flickered inside of me, but just a wisp. The rest was widespread bitterness and incredulity. "And what do I get out of this?" I asked, aware of how selfish I sounded.

"Self-satisfaction? Knowing you helped a fellow citizen?" Alex frowned, also aware.

"I don't..." I shook my head, barren of words. I was incredulous. "I can't, Doc."

"Just one second." He interrupted my shock. "Before you give me your answer, let me ask: have you ever lost anyone dear to you?"

I opened my mouth and closed it again, a soundless fish. "What does this have to do with anything?"

Alex's eyes remained on mine, resolved. I wondered what kind of thoughts were programmed into those irises, what he could see on my face that no mirror could ever tell me. "Answer my question."

My first thought was the Goddess, but I darted around her name. "My mom. She died of some rare genetic illness that put her into a cold sweat and then killed her in a heartbeat. Keep your cheap condolences," I added, for my sake. I was sick of _I'm sorry_, sick of that forlorn, sympathetic look.

Alex complied, though he kept his voice soft. "Then you know." He left his patronizing post and stooped to a perspective not even I could turn a blind eye to. "Jill has a baby lamb. Are you really going to ignore her cry for help and risk the life of an innocent animal? A precious life?"

I shook my head, not at his query, but at the situation as a whole. "You really know how to be dramatic when you want to, Doc," I muttered under my breath. "Especially after a heartthrob like that." He heard me and cracked a satiric grin.

I stared into the water trough, reluctant. I looked for something that was in the trough that didn't exist on Earth: a glitch, an alternate universe, a portal that could get me out of this. All I found, though, was a mirror of water and the reflection of my sour face.

"Well?" Alex asked imploringly.

I spread my arms open slightly. "What choice do I have?"

He looked infinitely relieved. As if I had just chosen to save his life, not some stranger's. "Thank you, Jamie. You're a good man." He started to go, then, leaving me to stand dumbfounded.

I had never been called a good man before – hell, to top that off, the times I had heard anyone say _thank you, Jamie _were also scarce.

"Wait," I heard myself say before I could control it. He turned around. "What...what is the farm girl's condition?"

Alex was quiet for a moment before responding. "She has a fatal heart condition. It will only get worse – we can put her on strong medication, but that will only prolong her life by a little." He unconvincingly added, "But we're looking for an alternate solution."

"I see. And, uh..." I hesitated before voicing my next query. "Is she pregnant?"

He blinked, bemusement washing over his face. "No, she isn't pregnant."

"Oh." _That damn barmaid._ "I was just..." I trailed off, flustered, my eyes pleading that he abandon the topic.

He complied, much to my relief. "I suppose I'll be going now – unless you have anymore questions?"

_Do you ever get any sleep at night? Have you ever truly been happy? Why do you waste your whole life offering help to people who don't think twice about you once they walk out of the clinic doors? Why do you live life the way you do? _"No. None."

"Then I'll be seeing you." I could see the gratitude stencilled onto his face, the kindness that wasn't naive, but unadulterated. He turned around and walked back down the dirt path, leaving me to my thoughts.

I was already feeling the presaged strain that would result from handling two farms. If Alex had asked me to help the farm girl last spring, I would have flat-out refused. I couldn't explain where all of my empathy was coming from now, which dark corner it had leaked from. Despite the charity, I couldn't help but feel a raging oppression in my gut.

Was kindness supposed to make me feel so powerless? Or was I just not used to it?

The days and weeks flew by as I slaved over both farms, slowly but surely. My routine had changed from waking up at 8 and spending the day tending to my plants and animals, with the occasional nap and night at the bar, to waking up at 6 and working in two locations from dawn 'til dusk. On my free time, I made trips to the seed store and ordered more fodder for the animals, ran small errands. The stony cocoon I had been was now a spurred butterfly. I had flown away, distracted, detached – from everything.

Because when you push certain things out of your mind, sometimes they really leave. Sometimes you _can _forget.

* * *

"You've been working yourself to the core. I haven't seen you since the beginning of summer," Eve commented when I had dropped by the bar one crisp autumn night. The heavy bar atmosphere that used to feel so familiar now felt, to me, like walking into a strange bubble. "What can I get you?"

"Just water is fine," I replied. She gave me a strange look. "What?"

"It's just that you've never come to the bar and ordered 'just water' before. Well, I don't think _anyone_ has." Eve looked at me like I was ill. "Did something happen?"

"I'm working two jobs," I filled her in briefly. "I don't think a hangover would be convenient for me at this time – not that a hangover would ever be convenient. Now, my water, please."

"...At least one thing about you hasn't changed: you're rude as ever." She laughed, returning a couple moments later with a glass of cold water. "What's this about two jobs?"

I knew that if I said nothing, she'd keep asking until she had to forcefully pry the answer from me. Taking a long sip to stall, I swallowed before summarizing, "I'm taking care of the farm girl's place while she's sick." I found myself downplaying it, like I wanted to avoid her judgement – for what reason, I didn't know.

Eve looked at me like I was a profound art piece, something she was in awe of. "And I thought that had been a rumour." She looked at me questioningly, as if she wanted me to confirm this, but I didn't say a word. "You know what's really up with that farm girl, right?"

I wasn't in the mood for the barmaid's gossip. "If this is another catty report from one of your bullshit sources, I don't want to hear it," I deadpanned.

She looked surprised, but not offended. "Me-_ow_. That was harsh, Jamie. But, no, I've 100 percent confirmed this so-called 'catty report.' I swear it."

"Eve, I think I clearly established that I don't want to hear –"

"They've found a solution."

I paused, letting the words run through my mind once, twice. I was more shocked than relieved. "What?"

"To her heart thing," she continued, making the entire ordeal trivial-sounding. I wondered, in this moment, how I had been able to tolerate Eve's cattiness all those nights at the bar. Maybe I'd just enjoyed the company. "I heard it from Uncle Duke, who went to the clinic to get his annual check-up. He overheard Dr. Alex talking to Gina about it. And no, I don't think my uncle is the type to start petty rumours." _But you are_, I felt tempted to remark.

"Well, don't keep me in suspense." I sipped the water. Bland. "It's that girl's fault I have no free time anymore. I think I'm allowed to be updated on her...condition."

"Well, their supposed solution to her condition is...kind of inconvenient, but they say it will definitely save her. They want to give her a heart transplant. Send her to the big city with all the professional surgeons and stuff. The only problem is, all that would be expensive as _hell_. I mean, from her background search, they've confirmed that she's able to cover the surgery costs with her insurance, but then there's the whole finding a heart, matching blood type blah blah. Know any B positives?"

I snorted. "Yeah, like I go around surveying people for their blood types," I quipped.

She made a fleetingly annoyed, but otherwise unfazed face. "Well, I'm a B positive, but I plan on living at least another twenty or so years, so I don't think I'm a valid candidate." She patted the wrong side of her chest.

"Same here," I muttered. I waited for the conversation to thin and die out, but of course with Eve, that was unlikely.

"I don't mean to be insensitive," she was saying now, "but maybe it's for the better if she...you know...passes. That way she doesn't have to suffer anymore. What good is being alive if you're bedridden all day long? False hopes and waiting for stuff you can't control and all that, what's the point? I mean, it's already been two seasons and they say she's only getting worse."

For the first time ever, I thought hard about Eve's words.

"They say that good things come to those who wait. But that's not always true," she stated, on a roll. "I mean, they also say the good die young." She was on to twirling her hair to the point where it looked like a mini tornado. Now that I looked more closely, I could identify light streaks of blond in her hair – highlights, or something like that. I couldn't possibly understand how girls obsessed over every little detail about themselves, focusing on things as small and petty as strands of hair and fingernails. Didn't they have anything of actual value to worry about? Didn't anyone, these days?

"Life isn't fair," I finally sided with her. My throat felt dry, as if someone had taken a bucket of sand and dumped it into my mouth. I gulped the water down but it did nothing to ease the parchedness. "Not for me, not for you, not for anyone."

Eve was eyeing me with interest now. "What do you expect is the solution, Mr. Philosopher?" she had the audacity to joke.

I quirked a hopeless grin. "Someone once told me the only thing to do is to be brave. It wasn't so much a solution as it was a viable response to, well, everything, although I find it much easier being a coward. Why is it, do you think, that the right thing to do is always the hard thing to do?"

Eve released her hair, which unwound itself like a long noodle. "Maybe it's just a premise. Some sick mentality society placed on itself like a giant weight."

"Maybe so."

"We all screwed up, you know that, Jamie? And as a result, we're all screwed. Every single person on the planet. _Screwed._" Eve slapped her hands against the counter top to punctuate her sentence, drawing the attention of several nearby bar patrons.

I ignored them, as did she. "Oh, I know. Hell, I do." I couldn't believe I was having a mildly intellectual conversation with Flower Bud's gossipy barmaid. But that was just a label, was it not? I was probably known as the cold-hearted rancher on the north side of town. In fact, I was certain of it.

The past half hour had been almost as surreal as the past season and a half. We both stared at our hands, the barmaid and the rancher, and looked around the room for a long moment, taking the world in. Taking in how we took the world for granted.

"Do you believe in karma?" Eve asked quietly.

"I don't know." I thrummed my fingers against the counter, knowing she wasn't satisfied with my answer. "Karma suggests the existence of fate. Fate implies that no matter what the hell you do, good or bad, you're going to end up in the same place anyway."

"Just because you don't like the idea of it, it doesn't mean that it doesn't exist," Eve pointed out philosophically. "And if you think about it, fate can be kinda comforting."

I merely shrugged. Another silence was produced.

"I'm pregnant, by the way," Eve mentioned, about five minutes into it. She nodded in sombre confirmation when I sent her a shocked look. "I would've told you about my bold, daring adventure to the city had you been wasting your nights here instead of working at that girl's farm. Maybe you even would've talked me out of it." She laughed once, bitter.

"Eve, what happened?" Something about her tone told me she wasn't a blissful, doting mother.

"I went clubbing in the city – it's a long story. I took the money out of my life savings and rode a train all the way there by myself. I got to the club and had some drinks, danced, and had a lot of fun. It was so different from Flower Bud, so...exciting." She sighed. "The night went on, and I was ready to call it the best night of my entire life. Then I met this guy and..." Like a call that had just been dropped, her voice suddenly drowned out. She wiped at her glossy eyes shamefully with her sleeve. "Well, you know what happened. You know." She paused, excusing herself to blow her nose and then gather her dignity back up. "I don't even remember the guy's name, and now I'm having his baby. Isn't that sad?"

I didn't know what to say. "I'm sorry" never sufficed; it was irritating, if anything. I'd know, as I'd heard it enough times after the story of my mother had reached people's ears. In the end, I didn't say anything at all. Something told me she appreciated the silence.

"I'm having an abortion," she said quietly.

I stared at the counter top, which had been witness to so many emotions, nursed so many drinks and tears. It was like a desecrated version of an altar. "Life's not fair, is it?" It was the only thing I could think to say; sometimes, there was no right answer. Life was the one game you couldn't win.

"Not for me, not for you..." she hummed, and I could hear the rise in her voice, the strangled sob caught in her throat.

"Not for the baby," I finished dismally.

Eve burst into tears.


	3. part 3

**Mind Brigade**

**part 3**

Time was the most fickle, yet powerful cure. For illness, heartbreak, everything – it was all mended with the passing of months, years, decades, even. It was strange, though; I wasn't sure if time had cured me or robbed me. The memories that used to bring me so much pain were now swept into a forgotten peninsula of my mind. Now, I merely felt numb recalling what used to be the most difficult-to-overcome events: the death of my mother, the petrification of the Goddess. It was like I had been wiped of my emotions, my heart injected with ice.

Fittingly enough, today was the first of winter. With only animals to tend to, this day declared also the first of a season of more free time. I didn't know what to do with this surplus time – the sun hadn't even set and I was left with nothing to tend to, my emotions and thoughts threatening to resurface.

Eager to escape, my feet led me to where I stood in the present, an awkward figure in the waiting room of the clinic, which smelled of sterile rubber gloves and clean laundry. Also in the room was Liz, the owner of the Spring Farm, who was absorbed in a magazine, and Michael, Junk Shop owner. He was playing with his fingers nervously and jittering in his chair.

Dr. Alex strolled out from one of the cubicles holding a clear plastic bag with a few multicoloured horse pills inside. He looked up, mildly surprised. "Three's a crowd," he murmured, although I wasn't sure I was supposed to hear it. "I have your medication right here, Liz. Michael, I can see you next. And Jamie...?" He shot me a pleasant but puzzled look. I was surprised to be here, too.

"I'm here to see, uh, the farm girl," I told him stiffly, keeping my voice down so she wouldn't hear me from her cubicle.

He folded his arms against his doctor's coat, which was frayed around the sleeves. "She has a name, you know."

I stopped myself from rolling my eyes. "Jill," I recited her name as if I were reading off a blackboard.

"Alright then." He sighed and waved me down the hallway. "Second cubicle on your right. If she's asleep, don't wake her – and don't shock or offend or do anything to her that might increase her blood pressure, okay? She's in critical condition." I noticed he had put extra emphasis on the word _offend _and smirked.

"No guarantees," I told him, making a beeline for her cubicle.

"Jamie. I _mean it_," Alex exasperated, but left me be. "Michael?" I could hear him say in a much gentler voice, and then the rest of the conversation was hushed. I took a deep breath: inhale, exhale, and swept the curtain aside, keeping my face nonchalant in case the farm girl was awake.

She was. I hardly recognized her, either – she had lost that healthy, youthful glow that had spited me so much upon meeting her. It was replaced by a sickly, fragile aura, and a light green tint to her face. She sat up, more skin and bones than I remembered, the machines she was hooked up to tugging along with her. "What are you doing here?" She still had her snobby vocal chords, so it was hard to completely feel sympathy for her.

_Heartless monster. _"Is that any way to talk to someone who tended to your crops and lamb everyday for the past two seasons, and saved your ass from financial debt?" I asked, just to see what kind of response I'd elicit from her. I knew I was terrible, taunting a sick person.

That got to her. She shrank back, and it irked me how small she looked then. When she had thrown her arms over my fence, rested her chin there and jeered at me, she had been a worthy opponent to pick on. Now, I just felt cruel.

"Thanks," she told me in a tiny voice. "...How is Cotton, by the way?"

I assumed she meant the lamb. "Fantastic. So cute I could eat her up," I said sardonically.

"...Oh. Good, I guess. That's good." She chewed on her lip for a long moment, then looked me straight in the eye. "So is that what you came here for? To see how pathetic I look? To rub it in my face how you won?"

"Won?" I blinked, disconcerted by her abrupt change in mood.

"Yeah. Did you save her? Did you save your precious Goddess?" she sneered, every word carcinogen. "Well?"

The words sent a crack into my mental brigade, a small opening that let my emotions leak out, that made my heart sting. "Excuse me?"

"That's what you wanted, isn't it?" she spat. "You wanted me to end up in here so you could go and save her yourself. You just wanted to win, and fine, you did. Are you happy? _Are you?_" The more I studied her face, the more I realized how much she hated me. The throbbing veins in her temples showed fury, the look in her eyes showed contempt, and the IVs pulling along with her rigid movements showed desperation.

She had never asked me to tend to her farm. In that instant, I thought of Alex, the devious doctor who manipulated everyone for the better. The pure, lone figure in our darkened society, the good thing that everyone spited.

"I hope," the farm girl said in a quiet voice, each word a little raindrop hitting a puddle. "I hope...that you never save her."

The cubicle was still. I had never been attacked so ruthlessly before. I had never been despised so viciously in my life. Every word she spoke pricked at my skin, and then my eyes. Eventually, lava-hot tears of realization were spilling from my eyes, and I couldn't move my paralysed limbs to hide them. When I looked at her, she had regret written on her face, but it was too late.

You couldn't un-pull a trigger. You couldn't wish back a fire.

You couldn't save a Goddess.

"You stupid girl," I whispered, shaking my head. The volume of my voice elevated and I took the four wide strides that closed the distance between us. "YOU. STUPID. GIRL."

"W-what are you doing?" The anger had been erased from her form, replaced by complete helplessness, which I thrived off of. I seized the IV pole, the machine the farm girl was hooked up to, and shook it violently.

_I _had control.

_I _would be victorious.

"Stop," she cried, cowering from me.

"Shut up," I snarled at her. I leaned in, my hands shaking from restraint. "You're pathetic. You are absolutely pathetic. I was right from the beginning. Even if I can't save the Goddess, _Jill_, you're the one who lost. _You_ ended up getting sick, and I'm feeling great enough to work two jobs. _You _came to town with your petty little dreams, and now they're all broken, just like you are. _You're_ the one hooked up to machines while I'm out everyday, keeping both of us out of debt. _You're _the stupid bitch with cancer, _you're _the one who's going to die, and I'M FINE!" I shouted the last two words so loudly that my entire frame shook.

I pulled away from her bed, releasing the IV pole. I was shaking.

Sometimes in life, there were moments in which you realized how truly sad the world was. Everyone felt educated, knowledgeable, like they had even a simple grasp of existence just because they'd learned to place labels on everything. In doing so, they had really accomplished nothing at all.

There was no fate. There was no karma. There was only cause and effect. If you dropped a glass against the floor, it would shatter. If you set off a bomb, it would explode.

In the end, I couldn't save the Goddess. I couldn't even save myself.

A strange, high frequency noise began to sound somewhere in the room. Like an encroaching predator, it sneaked up slowly, then pounced at top speed. My eyes directed away from the stilled farm girl to the heart rate monitor and the drilling sound it was making: a consistent, irritating, fast-paced _BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP –_

I could see someone grab a fistful of the cubicle curtain and nearly yank it off its handle. Dr. Alex came soaring into the room, but in my eyes, everything was in slow motion. "Jamie!" he roared, shoving me aside as he pounded straight to the farm girl.

The shove sent me flying, crashing back into reality. I watched as Alex spoke gentle words into the farm girl's ear, rubbed her shoulder, coaxed her to lie back down. And then I watched, in shock, as she buried her green face in her bony little fingers and began to sob.

I opened my mouth, but her voice beat me to it. "Shut up. Just SHUT—" The rest of her sentence was drowned in her own throat. Her entire body pulsed, just once, and she started convulsing.

The monitor was screaming. Steep, angular lines raced up, down, up down, forming what a child might perceive as a range of mountains. It sounded like a demon was in there, begging to escape, begging to _explode_. Jill was flailing on the bed, possessed.

Gina came charging into the room. "The defibrillator! THE DEFIBRILLATOR!" Alex was hollering at the top of his lungs. He charged out of the room, giving me the most burning cut eye I had ever received as he passed me. In that split second, I felt hell. I heard Gina scream once.

And then, the most terrifying thing happened. The delirious, screeching monitor was silenced by one defiant, long, _BEEEEEEP. _And then a thin line. And then Jill's head falling back on the pillow and her body going gravely still. And then nothing at all.

Gina stared at me for one long instant. Her large, circular lenses only magnified the bug gaze. I stared at the heart rate monitor and its bleak 180 degree line, feeling my own heart slow to a snail pace. "Monster," I heard her whisper.

Alex came thundering back into the room. He ignored me completely this time. "Clear!" I heard him yell, and then put the device to Jill's chest, making her dead body jolt and leap. I heard a single beep from the monitor.

"Doctor," I started to say, although I had no idea why. What was there left to say? I'm sorry? I wish I could take this back?

"Just get out," I heard Gina tell me in an angry, horrified whisper.

I didn't have to be told twice. I turned and fled from the clinic, fled all the way back to my ranch. My body was trembling and my blood was cold. Time was a concept. I was a concept.

When I got into my house, tripping and stumbling into the threshold, I ran up and ripped a piece of paper from one of the farming manuals I had in my bookshelf, my fingers the victim of a tremor as I reached for a pen. I shakily wrote down four simple words before an unfamiliar, painful sensation tore through my body – it was dreadfully cold and completely overwhelming. I dropped both the paper and the pen and slid to the floor. I crawled over to the door and kicked it open with my foot before I exploded with unbelievable pain; a newborn baby trying to walk, its rounded feet twisting, its soft head slamming against the flat ground.

Shaking. The whole damn world was shaking. They say that before you die, you see your whole life flashing before your eyes – but what do you see when someone else dies? When you're responsible for their death?

I saw _red_. I saw every shade of red, and then I felt a fissure split my head in two. My whole body was wrapped in a catatonic glacier. I was sweating but cold, I was screaming but I couldn't hear myself. I was convulsing, I was insane.

"_My mom. She died of some rare genetic illness that put her into a cold sweat and then killed her in a heartbeat." _

I couldn't think. I was scared for my life, scared for the farm girl, scared for everything I had ever lived for and the one being I would die for. But she was long gone already – the Harvest Goddess. I was screaming her name now, asking her to save me as I spasmed on the floor. Begging her for mercy, forgiveness, all these things I didn't deserve.

The beads of sweat rolling down my face were caught in the ice cold net that had been thrown over my body – an electric wired net. A net that trapped me, stunned me, and then inevitably killed me.

I screamed and screamed until I saw a colour that didn't exist, and then I felt an indescribable detachment from the entire world. It was in that moment that I knew that it was all over, that if deities and humans went to the same place – if they went anyplace at all – that I'd soon be seeing the Goddess.

I'd lost. I'd lost the game.

* * *

**WILL**

heart – farm girl

* * *

Summer 22, 6:15PM

Dear diary,

This year has been insane, to say the least. I feel like a little kid writing in this, but I suppose that's healthy, as all the youth had been zapped away from me the moment I was enrolled in med school. And for the record, Martha suggested this.

I would keep a time line of all the things that have occurred, but that would just be cryptic and painful. For starters, a new farmer moved in last year in the spring. She was bedridden because of a rare heart condition we were sure she wouldn't be able to live through without a donor. On the first night of her hospitalization, after I had given her all of her medication, she had asked me to stay at her bedside. I did, and she broke down, telling me her entire life story, about how her heart had always been weak and how she couldn't finish school because the doctors predicted she wouldn't live long enough. It was a long, heartbreaking tale. When she finally fell asleep, I knew that I couldn't let what was left of her life rot – I had to find someone to take care of her farm.

I went to Jamie immediately the next day, a cold-hearted rancher on the north side of town. To my surprise, he accepted Jill's forged request, a rare act of charity. He tended to her farm and single animal for two seasons. Ironically, he ended up being responsible for her cardiac arrest in early winter. The anxiety and guilt he felt must have triggered something, because not long after, he died. Bob, the town shipper, found him halfway out his front door, dropped dead just moments earlier – the cause of a rare genetic illness that he had inherited from his mother, I could safely assume.

Jamie did not, however, die in vain. He left a piece of paper behind with four simple words on it. It was his rushed will, instructing that his heart was to be given to Jill. I can see that he was overcome with grief from giving her a heart attack when he visited her at the clinic, but I don't think he had intended to die that day. I would say that he didn't deserve to die, but who am I to decide that? Nevertheless, I deeply regret my final moment with him.

We transferred Jill to the hospital in the city immediately. We managed to keep her holding on in time with the defibrillator, and she had the heart surgery performed right away. I wouldn't say she's perfectly healthy now, but relatively she's in great condition. She has since sold her riverside property and brought her sheep, Cotton, to live with her at the Jamie Ranch, which she has decided not to rename. She does owe that man her life, after all.

In other news, the resident barmaid, Eve, gave birth to a baby girl just a few days ago. She had initially wanted an abortion, but after giving it some long, hard thought, I guess she decided to keep it. She named the baby after Jamie – thankfully it's an androgynous first name – and I know she'll raise her with love.

I'm beginning to think Jamie will be like a monument to Flower Bud. Truly, I couldn't think of anyone more deserving. I could always tell just by the way he looked at me that my actions befuddled him – that he couldn't understand for the life of him why I did what I did, why I chose to be a doctor and aid people who never thought twice about me. I'm happy that he could understand how I felt before he died – I'm happy that he could understand how amazing it felt to save someone's life, even if it meant gaining nothing in return.

In conclusion, Jamie was a great man. I'd go as far as to say he was the bravest man I've ever known.

Signed, Alex of Flower Bud Village.


End file.
